


Betting Man

by lawfulgayheel



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alcohol, Attitude Era, Bandits & Outlaws, Bets & Wagers, Multi, Occult, POV Multiple, Past Relationship(s), Sibling Love, Wild West AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawfulgayheel/pseuds/lawfulgayheel
Summary: Shawn has two weeks to successfully seduce the next guy who walks through the saloon door. How hard could it possibly be?





	1. Luck of the Draw

**Author's Note:**

> this concept started as a joke and then i wrote almost 20k. oopsies! that's gonna be a trend as i post all my writing backlog actually.  
> anyway the whole thing is sort of silly and rom com-esque but i had a lot of fun writing it, and i hope whoever chances on it (if anyone does) enjoys it as well?  
> side pairings include: triple h/stephanie, chyna/miss kitty, past triple h/hbk, past triple h/chyna, and past stone cold/undertaker.

One of the stranger sets of weeks in Shawn Michaels’ life started as most of his days start: gently antagonizing his best friend in a tavern. It wasn’t like there was much better to do while hiding out from a particularly riled up band of Harts in some podunk nowheresville. Laying low was boring. They had to make their own fun, and few things got them more creative than adding a splash of alcohol into their systems. Did alcohol also make them a little on the belligerent side with each other? Maybe. Shawn liked to believe that the pros outweighed the cons. Mostly.

“If your head gets any bigger, you’re gonna have to start wearing two hats,” Hunter was grousing at him.

Shawn fluffed his hair dramatically, “Oh come on, if you were me you’d brag about it too! I mean, I’m irresistible, Hunter-- you of all people should know it.”

Hunter gave him an eyeroll and a muffled “mmhmm” into his whiskey.

“The Heartbreak Kid can have anyone, anywhere, anytime that he wants, and you know it,” he continued to push his old friend, elbowing him.

“Oh yeah?” Hunter put his glass down. “Sounds like betting words to me.”

“You’re on.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“Don’t have to. I can take anything you can dish out,” he punctuated his taunt with a juvenile flick of his tongue.

“Next guy through the door, you got until we leave to get him in the sack.”

“Two weeks? I’ll need two minutes, thank you very much.”

“We’ll see.”

The swing of the saloon door cut their banter off mid-sentence and both men turned to see who Shawn’s target would be.

Well over 6 feet tall. Pale as a ghost. Dressed in all black. Dark scraggly hair obscuring his face. Yelling something in a gruff tone about an axe to an equally large and scary man with his face covered. Great. Shawn’s heart sank into his stomach and Hunter clapped his shoulder.

“Do I absolutely, positively, 100% have to sleep with him?” Shawn asked him out of the corner of his mouth, as if anyone else was paying any attention to him.

“You know what? In honor of our long and seasoned friendship, I’m gonna show a little mercy. We’ll just say you have to “woo him.” So whatever that means to you in your heart of hearts,” he said with a dramatic flourish. “But I’m gonna need proof.”

Shawn squinted up at him, echoing suspiciously, “Proof?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Well hey, why should I have all the fun, eh?” Shawn slapped the other man’s chest. “Mayor’s got a pretty little daughter, right? We’ll race!”

“Really?” Hunter eyed him skeptically. “You think you can get it on with the freaky giant corpse guy faster than I can sweet talk an innocent sheltered princess?”

“I don’t think it, I know it,” Shawn winked.

All he had to do was keep hyping himself up until that confidence stuck. He repeated that in his head all the way to the funeral home. It began to dwindle, a tiny bit, as he cautiously pushed open the door, welcomed by the creakiest hinges he ever heard in his life. The interior was as dark and dismal as expected. A chill went through him the second he stepped inside. Apprehension started battling his confidence for the dominant mindset.

The parlor appeared empty, save for the distant sound of a hammer coming from the back rooms. With a deep breath, Shawn followed the noise.

As expected, the man was in his workshop, head down as he worked. As if sensing Shawn--who had been tiptoeing and holding his breath as if to keep his presence a secret-- his head tilted up ever so slightly, watching the intruder through a tangled curtain of hair.

“Sorry darlin’, don’t mean to intrude,” Shawn put on his most winningest smile. “Couldn’t help but be drawn in by…” Whatever he wanted to say dwindled in his mind as the man flipped his hair out of his face to get a better look at him.

With that simple adjustment of appearance, all of Shawn’s perceptions went out the window. The long hair that could have been described as “untidy” at best fell to perfectly frame the stranger’s face, cascading down his shoulders in red waves illuminated by the scarce light in the workshop. Piercing green eyes were glowering from beneath a strong brow-- hell, everything about him was strong, from his jawline to his exposed arms to his very presence. He straightened up to full height, towering over Shawn like some kind of gorgeous, gloomy statue.

“Can I help you?” His voice was a deep, rough growl.

Shawn forgot his own name.

 

* * *

 

Seated on his bed at the inn, Shawn stared blankly at the urn in his hand. It was an objectively very nice urn made of shining bronze and covered in ornate plants he couldn’t quite identify. He hadn’t the slightest of clues what he was going to do with it.

Hunter finally returned, immediately noticing Shawn’s newest belonging, “He gave you an urn?”

“No, Hunter,” Shawn spoke in a soft, pathetic voice. “I bought an urn.”

He tried not to take the way his old friend immediately burst into laughter to heart. He had to admit, if it had happened to someone else? It would be funny.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he sniped bitterly. “It was a fluke, okay? He didn’t immediately fall victim to my bountiful charms and I panicked, but you know something? I ain’t worried! That guy’ll be knocking my door down in a day, I promise you that.”

“’That guy’? You didn’t even get his name?”

“I panicked!” He repeated, irate. “It’s fine. All according to plan. I told you, I got this.”

Sitting beside him on the bed, Hunter patted his shoulder condescendingly, “Listen, I’m in a good mood, so I’ll do this for ya. Don’t worry about racing me, just get it done at all and we can call your pride salvaged.”

“I don’t need your pity! We’re racing!”

“I got this girl eating out of my hands in 10 minutes, Shawn, don’t push your luck.”

“Well you still have Mayor Daddy Dearest to worry about,” Shawn grumbled.

“Yeah, sure do,” Hunter rolled his eyes. “Speaking of charming family members, you should talk to Pac about his new friend. Might help you. Or might scare the shit out of you and send you packing for good. That reminds me, did we set up stakes or is this for pride?” He was goading Shawn and both men knew it.

No matter his words, Shawn’s confidence was decimated. He had no plans or leads, beyond Hunter’s ominous suggestion.

“I want your horse.”

“I want your Laumman.”

Hunter didn’t even hesitate. How long had he been eyeing Shawn’s gun, anyway? His favorite one, at that.

Trying not to let the trepidation show on his face, he stuck his hand out. Looking at the utterly grating grin on Hunter’s face as he grasped his hand, Shawn could practically feel the pistol leaving his belt. It was going to be a very long two weeks.


	2. Ace in the Hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH i went w/mute Kane since this is supposed to kind of reflect/parallel stuff from 97-99? i mean it's a hodgepodge but. you know. i also made taker's dialogue style sort of dip into bikertaker territory? ok, ok, the paralleling elements are cherry picked as fuck. moving on!

Hunter’s foreboding advice on talking to X-Pac ended up being a godsend. The kid’s new “friend” was a huge, menacing man with an eyepatch and a face so deformed by scars that he kept it hidden away. The glare from his good eye gave Shawn an eerie sense of deja vu as he approached the duo. He didn’t, or couldn’t, speak much, but X-Pac managed to interpret clearly enough that his name was Kane and he was the younger brother of Shawn’s target. Stilted conversation revealed that his brother’s name was going to be harder to figure out.

“Dunno man, everyone calls him the Undertaker,” he shrugged. “Even this guy calls him big brother deadman or somethin’.”

Kane knocked his fist on the table and pointed to his ear, as if to remind X-Pac that while he was mute, he wasn’t deaf, and clearly didn’t appreciate the way the other man was talking as if he wasn’t there. X-Pac grinned apologetically. Shawn was silently grateful he and Hunter hadn’t included him in on the bet. There was an obvious little spark with how close they were sitting together, and the looks they kept exchanging. Usually that kind of success in the face of his own failure would annoy him, but Shawn took it as a sign that, if his brother was susceptible to a charming smile, the Undertaker would be too.

Ignoring his clear status as third wheel, Shawn overstayed his welcome, needling as much information as he could out of Kane, whose patience visibly thinned with every word.

Without much to go on, but the renewed conviction of a new day nonetheless, Shawn traipsed on over to the funeral parlor, head held high. Luck continued to be in his favor that day: the Undertaker was outside fixing a window.

Before Shawn could get a single pleasantry out, the Undertaker spotted his reflection. “You again.”

Stopped in his tracks, he delicately put a hand over his heart, feigning offense, “Am I detecting hostility?”

The Undertaker turned around, hands on his hips, “You wasted a hell of a lot of my time yesterday. What do you want, pretty boy?”

At least he thought he was pretty.

“I’m just passing by, darlin’, no need to get all upset!” Shawn reassured him.

The Undertaker wasn’t buying it, suspicious expression not budging.

Switching tactics, Shawn tried, “You know, it’s funny, I’ve heard so much about you from Kane, but yesterday I didn’t even--”

The Undertaker looked away suddenly, barking out, “Kane, you know this fool?”

Following the other man’s gaze, Shawn spied X-Pac strolling by with Kane. Perfect timing, he hoped.

The two looked at each other, then X-Pac at Shawn, then to Kane again. The smaller man leaned up and whispered something into Kane’s ear. Kane turned to his waiting brother and signed a few things at him. The two giants repeated a sign a few times at each other, before the Undertaker nodded, and the duo slipped off. While Shawn couldn’t fathom what the gestures meant, he noticed Kane point in his direction at least once while making them.

“What is,” he tried to mimic the motion, “--is that me?”

“How’s he tellin’ you so much about me if you can’t even understand him?”

“I,” Shawn faltered, before adding, not untruthfully, “use an interpreter.”

The Undertaker nodded, not believing a word out of him, “Need one now?”

“Kinda,” Shawn had a horrible feeling of apprehension in his stomach at the almost pitying look in those eyes.

“He’s calling you a blonde floozy.”

Shawn made a note to himself to have a chat with X-Pac about his new boyfriend’s mannerisms. Sure, he wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t have to be __that__ harsh.

“Listen,” the Undertaker continued before Shawn had a moment to defend himself. “I get your game. Not interested.”

Genuinely caught off guard, Shawn repeated, “Not interested?”

“You ain’t my type.”

Not his type? Bullshit. Shawn was everyone’s type. He was especially everyone’s type in this kind of backwater, boring scrap of civilization.

Still game to push his luck, Shawn closed the distance between them with a few leisurely steps, “Really?” He radiated a cocky, smug energy as he spoke, “ _ _I’m__  not your type?”

At his close proximity, he noticed the subtle tightening of the Undertaker’s jaw as his penetrating green eyes narrowed, but didn’t blink, didn’t look away. He held his breath, fearing the much larger, very intimidating man was about to take a swing at him. It wouldn’t be entirely undeserved, but it wouldn’t be quite how Shawn wanted their interaction to end. Then the Undertaker surprised him.

“Alright, you got me,” he admitted, matter-of-fact. “But my type’s trouble. And I ain’t about knocking on trouble’s door.” Then he leaned in, so close Shawn found himself involuntarily tilting his chin up to meet him, stopping just short to add in a threateningly soft voice, “So beat it.”

Shawn let out the small, shuddering breath he realized he had been holding in as the Undertaker walked past him, into the funeral parlor. Trying to calm his heart, he followed the Undertaker with a glare as the door shut behind him. Then the corner of his mouth twitched up in a sinister smile. He was back on track. The Undertaker’s words were a hard no. That look he was giving Shawn, however, was an absolutely, positively, go-on-pretty-boy-show-me-just-how-much-trouble-you-can-be yes. He more than had a foot in the door, it wouldn’t be hard to prove that to Hunter at all. Then once that was done, once his win was secured, he could spend all the time in the world playing the Undertaker like a fiddle. He could drag it out as long as he wanted, teasing and taunting and playing hard to get until that strong, proud figure was on his hands and knees begging for him. Unequivocally pleased with himself, Shawn flipped his hair over his shoulders and headed back the way he came, humming the whole way.


	3. Hedge Your Bets

“You can’t take a hint, can you?”

There was something about the aesthetic of the Undertaker with a hand on his hip, an axe in the other, and one foot on a fallen tree, glaring at him, that was really doing it for Shawn. The hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and half unbuttoned shirt weren’t too bad either. Did he fell an entire tree on his own and not even break a sweat? Impressive.

His own axe over his shoulder, Shawn grinned at him, “Well I wouldn’t consider “beat it” to be a hint.”

“So you can’t take orders, is that it?”

Oof. Orders. On the contrary, he would have loved to take certain orders from the big man. He kept it to himself for the time being.

Dismissing the annoyed accusations with a wave of his hand, Shawn replied, “No need to be so hostile, I’m here as a favor.”

Just as it seemed the Undertaker had resolved to ignore Shawn and get right back to work, he stopped and turned around. His suspicious gaze was question enough for Shawn to answer.

“Yeah. For X-Pac.” Seeing no signs of recognition in Taker’s eyes, he continued, “X-Pac? Sean? About yea high, hangs around your brother a lot?”

“Oh.” For a second the Undertaker didn’t realize Shawn hadn’t given him a satisfactory answer at all. “That doesn’t mean anything, why are you here?”

“Oh, you know, those two lovebirds were having __so__ much fun together, and Kane seemed so __reluctant__ to have to leave and come help big brother out in the woods,” Shawn poured on the drama and flair as thick as he could. “I couldn’t help myself! And so here I am, yours and Kane’s knight in shining armor, to assist you in,” he made a vague hand gesture at the stump behind the Undertaker, “logging?”

The truth was Shawn had overheard a bit of conversation that somewhat indicated that X-Pac wanted Kane to bail on his brother, and that there was maybe the tiniest inkling in Kane that was willing to do it. Butting in, he reassured the two he had a solution for all their problems, as long as Kane kept his big mouth--er, hands, shut about the white lie nature of what Shawn was planning on telling his brother. With a hint of gratefulness in his eye, Kane agreed, surrendering his axe. That was the moment where Shawn figured out what he actually volunteered himself for. He didn’t have any experience with chopping wood, but what he did have an expertise in was making it seem like he knew what he was doing.

As it turned out, he continued to have success in that field. Whether the Undertaker believed him as he tried to convince him that he really wasn’t there to do anything devious, the man let him stay. Step one in the playing hard to get phase was complete, all he had to do was fake his way through the woods.

Not more than 15 minutes into working in silence, the Undertaker commented, “You’ve got a pretty good swing on you, pretty boy.”

Shawn gripped the axe a little harder, physically restraining himself from flirting in response. It was unfair, the Undertaker gave him such an easy target. After all, it’s a well known fact that the Heartbreak Kid doesn’t carry two guns, he carries four! No, no, the other man had only just begun tolerating his presence. He couldn’t do anything to make him regret letting him stay. Jeopardizing the payoff was out of the question.

“Thanks,” he smiled, desperately trying to keep his neutral body language in check. “You know, as much of a fan I am of people telling me I’m pretty, I’ve got a name.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Sighing and putting his axe down, he strode over and stuck his hand out. “Shawn Michaels.”

The Undertaker eyed Shawn’s hand like it was a snake. As Shawn was about to take the loss and pull his hand back, one large, cold hand grasped it in a firm handshake. Still no response behind a sort of “mmhmm” noise.

With a touch of dryness, Shawn prompted, “Nice to meet you, too….?”

“Just Undertaker’s fine.” And the man was picking his axe up and returning to his work.

How badly was he trying to avoid letting people know him? Shawn would’ve felt offended if he hadn’t already known his reputation.

“O-kay then…Taker?”

The Undertaker’s eyebrows twitched together in a displeased, surprised expression, but he said nothing.

“Right. So. What are all these trees--” A black gloved hand cut him off.

Rubbing his eyes, Taker almost pleaded, “Tell you what, we get this done in complete silence in two hours? Then I’ll answer whatever questions you got.”

They finished with 20 minutes to spare.

Despite the promise of answering any questions, the Undertaker didn’t give Shawn a terribly large amount of words to work with. From the start he seemed on guard. As much as Shawn wanted to pry into his personal life, he had to play uninterested and detached. It was hard to get him talking, but once Shawn came up with actual questions about business, he managed to wring out a few details. Even with the scarce words offered, it seemed like it was something Taker really cared about.

It was a family business, passed from parents to sons, it seemed. And, while the alleged reason for securing lumber personally was “to ensure quality”--whatever that meant--Shawn got the feeling it was something the brothers did out of a sense of bonding. Just a guess.

As they parted ways with polite goodbyes, he even got a hesitant thank you out of Taker. On Kane’s behalf, of course. Don’t get it wrong.

“That boy,” the Undertaker pointedly avoided eye contact, voice lowering. “He’s had it rough.”

“I had a feeling,” Shawn lied with a small smile. “Listen, Sean’s like a brother to me, and if he’s happy, then I’m happy, and if Kane makes ‘im happy, well, I don’t mind picking up a little extra work to help those kids out.”

For a moment, the Undertaker wasn’t frowning. He wasn’t smiling either, but the permanent furrow in his brow had eased up.

“You’re--” Taker cut himself off with a shake of his head.

“What, not what you expected?” Shawn grinned, moving in to bump him lightly with his elbow. “C’mon deadman, admit it, you had me all wrong.”

Taking a very short moment to react to the physical contact and being called “deadman,” the Undertaker leaned in close, too close, and spoke softly into Shawn’s ear, “Not even a little.”

Shawn never ended up finding out what the other man was originally going to say about him.


	4. Poker Face

For all Hunter claimed he had the mayor’s daughter right where he wanted her, he was encountering enough roadblocks to give Shawn more confidence in his “play it slow and steady” plan. Three roadblocks, specifically: her father, her brother, and, this one was the kicker, her fiance. In an act of solidarity, Shawn reassured his crestfallen friend that he, too, was hitting setbacks. It was so _hard_ to spend an hour and a half chopping down trees and not making a comment about being willing to help with “wood” anytime. Hunter threw a pillow at him.

“You didn’t flex and make the four guns joke did you?”

“I couldn’t. I’m suffering, Triple H, I truly am.”

Shawn let two days pass without going knocking at the Undertaker’s proverbial door again. The town was small enough that he would occasionally catch him out of the corner of his eye, but for the most part he saw more of Kane than he did Taker. It wasn’t on purpose, in fact Shawn tried to make himself as scarce as possible around him. He knew Kane wasn’t his biggest fan and, hell, what satisfaction would he get out of stirring the pot with him and X-Pac when they were getting along so well? 

The same couldn’t be said for Hunter and Stephanie. He spent at least one of his two days hanging all over his friend whenever she came around, giving him suggestive smiles that were met with the dirtiest looks Hunter could muster. Shawn knew his friend would probably get him back for it in similar fashion, but for the time being he __also__ knew the Undertaker scared him too much for him to try anything.

The day Shawn finally went looking for Taker, the mortuary was as dead as its clients. As someone accustomed to getting into places where he was lawfully unwelcome, it was strange to leave the shop unoccupied and unlocked. If anyone could get away with that boldness, though, it was the Undertaker. Besides his intimidating reputation, who was going to try and steal a coffin anyway? Shawn might, with the idea in his head, just to see if he could, but that was for another day. For the time being, he had a missing mortician to locate.

He didn’t have to wander any further than to a fenced off area next door to find him. While the fence was short enough to see over, he only caught sight of Taker through a slightly open door. An opening so slight that one would have to have been intentionally snooping to find it. There was no casual segue he could make. Another challenge in improvisation. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

As quietly as possible, he snooped closer. Within the fence was a garden. A bed of lilies stretched across the ground, gorgeous in their own right but paling in comparison to the man tending them. Shawn felt himself start to swoon and shook it off immediately. Not now.

Like every time, the Undertaker noticed him without even glancing his way.

“So which is it today, pretty boy? Passing by, or are you a white knight again?” He asked dryly, keeping his attention on weeding.

Shawn rested his crossed arms on the fence and put on a facetious smile--should the man actually decide to look at him, “Ain’t nothin’ to do in this town but drink, and it’s only 10. I got at least two hours to kill.”

“Don’t you have any other friends to bother?”

There was no bite to his words. On the contrary, a wry smile wouldn’t have been out of place to go along with them. Not that there was one present, but once again, Taker didn’t seem unhappy that Shawn was there. Did he imply they were friends? Or chummy at the very least?

“Well, sure, but I can bother them whenever I want. I’ve only got nine more days to bother you,” he held up nine fingers to emphasize.

“Pity.”

In most circumstances, Shawn would’ve found the way Taker said that, and then immediately picked up a pair of clippers, threatening. There was something different about him that morning. Something in his tone, almost like he was being a bit playful with Shawn. His words on their own were dismissive, but he spoke as if expecting, maybe even wanting, Shawn to banter back. Folding his arms and settling on the fence, Shawn tried not to put too much stock into the thought. There was no way of telling what the Undertaker was really thinking.

He let things sit for a short while, quietly watching the man work. He had such graceful hands, for how big they were. Shawn bit his lip as Taker delicately inspected one of the lilies, wondering what those gentle fingers would feel like brushing against his face or stroking his hair.

Ignoring the fantasy, he noted the small but growing pile of cut lilies beside Taker, “This another quality thing?”

For the first time that morning, the Undertaker looked up at him, eyes baffled.

“Like the trees.”

Confusion fading, Taker turned back to the ground and replied, “More like an old habit.”

“Lotta work for a habit, isn’t it?”

“I don’t mind it.”

Was that sentimentality in the deadman’s voice?

Shawn watched for a little longer, before asking, “Would I be traipsing on hallowed ground if I came in?”

“Yes. Unless you’re here to work. Far side could use more weeding.”

Shawn eagerly grabbed the opportunity, keeping his pace and expression as casual as possible. Expecting another hour and a half of silent work, he was delighted when the Undertaker spoke unprompted.

“Nine days, huh?” His eyes darted up at Shawn. “What brings you to a little place like this for more than a night?”

“Laying low,” he answered, unsatisfactory bait.

“You gonna answer the question or not, boy?”

Not the response he was looking for, but close enough.

Stifling a surprised laugh, Shawn replied, “I’m not, shall we say, in the good graces of the law.”

“Why not?” Now Taker was just humoring him.

“I rob funeral homes,” he informed him.

Putting his hands on his hips, the Undertaker gave Shawn an exasperated look.

“I can’t help myself!” Shawn grinned, “I love that embalming fluid scent. And those folding chairs, I just can’t keep my hands off ‘em, y’know? I get a real rush.”

The Undertaker rolled his eyes, shaking his head and returning his attention to the flowers. “You’re a real piece of work, Michaels.”

“I’m a work of art, thank you very much,” Shawn insisted once he was done laughing at his own joke. “Anyway, I robbed a bank and one of my partners got sloppy.”

“Oh, you all rob banks? Glad my little brother is in good hands.”

“Unfortunately, Pac is the one who got sloppy. So his hands? Maybe not so good.”

If Shawn had blinked at the wrong moment he would’ve missed the tiniest ghost of a smile flitting across the Undertaker’s lips. That alone was worth winning the bet. In the back of his mind he started formulating a case he could bring to Hunter. In the meantime, he wanted to make effective use of the Undertaker’s pleasant mood.

“So Kane and X-Pac. They’re doing good, huh?” Shawn already knew the answer, but there was a barely detectable tenderness on the Undertaker’s face when he talked about his brother, and he liked seeing it.

“Hardly see him. So. I guess.” Taker’s brow wrinkled in concern, eyes suddenly hyper-focusing on the two lilies in his right hand, “Must be.”

“Hey, aside from bein’ wanted in a few states, Sean’s a pretty good kid!” Shawn reassured him. “Don’t worry so much.”

“I never said I was worried.”

“Didn’t really need to,” Shawn replied under his breath.

Taker gave him another annoyed glare, not having missed a word. Then without even an inkling of warning, he threw the lilies at Shawn, hitting him square in the face.

“Hush.”

“Hushing.”

For a few minutes, Shawn was so preoccupied with trying to figure out why people kept throwing things at him that day, that it didn’t register that, in the loosest sense, the Undertaker gave him flowers. That was a win, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my stupid fun fact of the day is the origin of folding chairs was, apparently, in funeral homes? and they were called undertaker chairs. the fact that this is never utilized over taker's entire career is TRULY criminal.


	5. Sweeten the Pot

Same as any other night, the Undertaker was in his workshop. A casket blueprint was laid out before him, but the usual focus he had wasn’t there. He was feeling restless of late, and it was only worsening by the day. He was hitting an all-time low in productiveness over the past week--no, nine days, to be exact. Anxiously running a hand through his hair, he sighed. It was getting late. Usually that wouldn’t stop him, but weariness had started plaguing him as nights fell. He was tired.

The outer door of the funeral parlor rattled. A familiar presence stumbled its way through. Bracing his hands on the work table, Taker looked up to the doorway, waiting for the appearance of one Shawn Michaels. When they first met, the outlaw’s aura gave him a terrible headache. It was so loud and bright. Being near him was like sun gazing. It hurt like hell, but there was a radiance and heat that felt spiritually pleasant. Deep in his black heart he knew no good could come of it, but having the man around was a…change. Maybe even a nice one.

This time, though, when he saw that aura, a terrible creeping apprehension fell over him.

Shawn was definitely drunk, and that look on his face revealed some bad intentions. Shambling over to the table, he slammed his hands down on the far end, mirroring Taker’s pose. He peered up at the taller man, flashing him a smile that almost immediately erupted into tipsy giggles.

“What are you doing?” Shawn traced his fingers along the edge of the table as he paced around it, getting closer and closer to the Undertaker. “Here. All,” he dragged the word out, “alone.” He stopped half a step away, hand sliding seamlessly from the table onto Taker’s hand, “When you could be alone with me?”

A chill ran through Taker’s body, a feeling he was so unfamiliar with that it would have scared him, if he were prone to such vulnerability. Shawn’s fingertips slid up his arm. When they reached the base of his neck, he finally spoke.

“This is a bad idea.”

In a sultry whisper, Shawn admitted, “Well, yeah.” His teasing hand finally stopped at Taker’s chin, tilting it down so their eyes met directly, “But bad ideas feel so…good.”

The Undertaker began to curse under his breath, cut off by Shawn’s lips on his own. He really, really should have pushed him off. He had strength and size advantage, it wouldn’t have been hard. His rational mind was begging him to make the smart choice.

Instead, he eased himself down onto the work table, letting Shawn climb onto his lap. Then he started kissing him back. Shawn was a tad sloppy, but he was so warm and soft against Taker’s skin. It felt so __right,__ like that pretty little body was made to be his, pressing so perfectly up against his own.

“I want you.”

With their breathing mingled together and his head suddenly so feverish, Taker wasn’t sure which of them said it. But he did. He did want Shawn.

The man was trouble, the Undertaker knew it since day one and he hadn’t changed his mind on it. His willingness to put up with trouble, now that had changed. Shawn had grown on him from all the hanging around he did. His company had become somewhat enjoyable, and Taker found himself almost looking forward to having him loiter around with that weaselly smirk of his that he made whenever he thought he did something clever.

The change wasn’t only about the Undertaker or Shawn. It was something the Undertaker saw in his brother. He never expected to see Kane open up to anyone the way he did to X-Pac. There was a light in Kane’s eye that had long since gone out, that the Undertaker never thought he would see again. He was lively, the usual gloom in his spirit lifted. The ethereal fire that surrounded his brother shifted, resembling an aura that looked almost human.

Alive and human weren’t things the Undertaker had ever thought he personally would be again, nor would he have the desire to. Yet, as he stared into Shawn’s vibrant, volatile aura, there was a very, very small piece of him deep down in his dark heart that needed to be.

The Undertaker broke the kiss, threading his fingers through Shawn’s gorgeous golden hair. With an affectionate squeeze of the other man’s thigh, Taker turned his attention to his neck, nuzzling and pecking at it.

Hands were suddenly fussing with his belt buckle, and, feeling that prickle of apprehension again, Taker knew he had to draw a line. That was not happening. Not yet. Not that night. Though Shawn would make a beautiful picture on his back, surrounded by dark bed sheets-- No. No farther. They were already too far. Enough.

The heat of the moment began to die out, rationality returning to the forefront of the Undertaker’s head. Still with his head in the crook of Shawn’s neck, he warded off the mischievous hands. Giving him one last playful love bite, Taker barely picked up on two mumbled syllables that immediately doused the burning desire in his heart with ice water.

“Hunter…”

__Who?_ _

Seizing Shawn’s shoulders and yanking him away, Taker snapped, “Who the hell is--?”

Shawn’s eyes were closed. His arms were limp around the Undertaker’s neck. Out like a light.

Gritting his teeth, Taker fought his first instinct to shove Shawn onto the floor and leave him there. His second instinct, throwing him out into the street, was much more reasonable. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with him in his shop the next morning. He wouldn’t have to see him at all, if he played his cards right.

As he paced towards the door, Shawn in his arms, his furious resolve weakened. As much as he wanted to the moment before, when he looked at that sleeping face, he couldn’t just throw him out. Making an aggravated noise, he headed for the inn.

A brief and gruff exchange with the innkeeper sent him in the direction of Shawn’s presumed room. He stared at the door for a moment, then opened it with a decisively rough kick.

The one blonde that was always hanging around Shawn (What was it Kane called him? Nose-something?) and the mayor’s daughter were both standing rather close together. While it didn’t look like anything was going on, Taker knew he was a few seconds early on walking into something scandalous. Ruining that gave him a bit of empty satisfaction.

“I, um, I should go,” Stephanie pulled her hand from the glowering man’s chest, eyes frantically flitting back and forth between him and the Undertaker. “Goodnight, Hunter.”

She skittered away and out the door, leaving the two men to glare daggers at each other.

__You._ _

“I think this belongs to you.”

“Yeah, I don’t want it.”

“That makes two of us.”

The Undertaker unceremoniously dumped Shawn onto the open bed. Glowering down at the tangled mess of drunken limbs, he found a distinct absence of anger coming from inside him. Instead there was a blistering pain in his rib cage that he’d never felt before, nor could he identify. His head was absolutely furious with Shawn, but his heart was feeling something else. He didn’t like it. Not at all.

Giving the man one last hard look, Taker turned to Hunter, “Enjoy.” And he was gone.


	6. No Dice

Shawn sat up in bed and Hunter decked him. It wasn’t the first time he woke up that way, probably wouldn’t be the last. It was, however, amplified by the horrible pounding headache he had. Rubbing his jaw, he flopped back down against the mess of covers, whining.

“What’d I do this time?” He grumbled, rolling over to hide his face from the too bright sun coming through the window.

“I was so close!” Hunter growled. “Man, even when you’re not actively trying to screw me over, you sure have a way of ruining everything.”

“What did I do?” He repeated, with less of a grumble and more of a legitimate concern. “I didn’t make a move on whats-her-name, did I?”

“Y’know what, Shawn?” Hunter stood, speaking with a truly menacing edge. “I’m done cleaning up after you. You can go find out what you did on your own.”

The door slammed behind him.

Shawn dragged himself upright with a groan. If Hunter wouldn’t give him answers, no one in DX would. Probably. He knew he had their loyalty, but only as long as he had Hunter’s. There was one single person he could bank on not to let him down-- if she was in a generous mood.

Shawn sidled up onto one of the bar stools with as bright a smile he could manage without hurting his face. That one right hook had really done a number on him. He patiently waited until the owner’s cute little blonde barkeep stopped flirting with her, knowing in his heart of hearts that interrupting them would get him absolutely nowhere. More likely, it would get him another shot to the other side of his face, to match.

“Chyna,” he sang out her name once the other woman sashayed off. “Darling, sweetheart, angel who I am not worthy to look upon~”

“Oh, this’ll be good,” she leaned one elbow on the counter, the other hand on her hip, grinning at him.

He was laying it on too thick for her, or anyone, to fall for, but enough that she seemed to be getting a kick out of it at the very least. She was in a good mood.

“Now, you and me, we go way back, we’ve gotten each other out of plenty of dicey situations-- hell, the only reason we’re even here and safe from prying Hart eyes is because of your gracious offer--”

“You’re welcome by the way,” she interrupted. “For a minute there it seemed like Billy was the only one who remembered his manners.” She plucked a glass from under the counter, throwing ice in it and passing it over, “Don’t drink it, its for your face.”

Holding the glass to his face, he continued, “Let’s say I were to do something a little less than gentlemanly--”

“Like always.”

“You would, as a dear and old friend of mine, not abandon me in my time of stupidity, but instead--”

“Shawn, you’re gonna give yourself a headache, just come out and say what you wanna say.”

He sighed, “Did you see me at all last night? I can’t remember a damn thing.”

She snickered softly, “Oh yeah, I saw you. A lot of people saw you.”

Gripping at his hair, fearing the answer, he pushed forward, “And what did they see me doing?”

“First you knocked back a couple bottles all by yourself, had some weird, tense discussion with Hunter, then disappeared for about an hour.” There was that grin again, “And the next time we saw you, you were out cold and all cuddled up in Mr. Big Scary Deadman’s arms. Honestly, I dunno which one of you should be more embarrassed.”

Lightly banging his fist on the table, he exclaimed, “I won! That’s why Hunter’s so mad!”

“Yeah, I heard all about your charming dick measuring contest,” she scoffed, still in good nature. “You two haven’t changed a bit.”

“Aw, thanks.”

“Not a compliment. Not even a little.”

“Oh, you,” he gave her a flamboyant wave. “Well now that that’s settled, I have to go gloat. You see where Triple H went?”

“He stormed off somewhere,” she rolled her eyes. “I’d let him cool off some first. We both know what a sore loser he is.”

Setting the glass down, he stood and stretched, “In that case, think I’ll go try and wring some juicy details out of the deadman.”

“He left you a hell of a hint,” Chyna tapped the base of her neck.

Hint? Shawn touched the area, brain still sluggish. Covering up another laugh, Chyna held up a plate to him. Tilting his head, he could barely make out a hint of a red mark in the blurred surface.

“Eh. I think he can do better, don’t you?”

“Go get ‘im, tiger.”

“Thanks, babe, I owe you.”

“You really do.”

With all intentions of following Chyna’s advice about their mutual ex, Shawn stumbled right into him on the way out of the door. He should have walked past him. The blossoming bruise on his face warned him of this quite loudly.

He couldn’t help himself.

He smirked up at Hunter, “Aw, is someone mad he lost to me, __again?”__

“I should hit you, __again.”__  Triple H’s eyebrows pulled together, as if he responded before completely understanding what Shawn said to him. “Wait, lost?” Then he laughed, “Yeah, okay, if you wanna call whatever happened with the deadman a win.”

“I would definitely call it a win,” Shawn tugged his collar aside, showing off the bite mark. “You wanted proof, you got proof.”

Hunter responded with an amused smile, “Sure, bud. You even remember what happened?”

“Don’t need to! I got other witnesses, and you’re one of ‘em,” Shawn let go of his shirt and winked, shooting the other man with a finger gun.

Clapping Shawn on the shoulder, he replied, “Boy, I would __love__ to rain on your parade today.” The hand was suddenly gripping, hard, and Hunter’s teeth were clenched, “You really screwed me over Shawn, but I think you screwed yourself over just as bad. Whatever happened over in your little morgue sex dungeon or whatever you two have going on, you pissed him off, pal.”

Shawn rolled his eyes, “Yeah, sure. When was the last time someone pissed you off and you oh-so-lovingly bridal carried them to bed?”

“More often than you think, being stuck with you,” Hunter finally let go of his shoulder. “And, just like me and the hoards of other men that put up with you, once he was finished with you, he dumped you on your ass and left. He doesn’t want you.”

That was too far. Both men knew it.

“Screw you,” Shawn shoved him with one hand, barely making an impact.

Hunter smiled back.

Shawn pushed past him, not wanting to show how ruffled he was from the comments. As much as he wanted to attribute Triple H’s foul mood to being a sore loser, something felt off. Yes, his former lover was prone to subjecting him to that kind of vitriol, but there were still lines they tried not to cross with each other.

It occurred to him that it wasn’t about the two of them. It was unlikely, but not impossible, that Hunter drummed up some feelings for the mayor’s daughter. In his drunken stupor, Shawn really could have wrecked it. Were that the case, he might even feel a bit guilty over it. Not so much immediately after the tongue lashing he received, but underneath everything, he wanted to see his best friend move on and find someone else. It would make moving on easier for him, too.

He slowed to almost a stop. He didn’t mean to think that. What he __meant__ was he already moved on, and he would feel less guilty about moving on while Hunter remained stuck in the past all heartbroken and what not. That’s all.

Stomach all twisted in knots, he struggled to open the door to the funeral parlor. The store front was as empty as ever, with telltale sounds of saws and hammers coming from the back room.

Shawn poked his head into the workshop. The Undertaker didn’t look up. Not a good sign on its own, but he looked busy with work, busier than Shawn had seen him the entire time he knew the man. Three new stacks of coffins were piled up next to him, and he was furiously working on another on his table. Shawn had never seen him make so many at once. His first thought was that there must have been a big order that came through. As soon as he gave the notion any further thought, he shivered. He didn’t want to ruminate on how that many corpses could have stacked up in one itty-bitty town.

He cleared his throat, knocking on the door frame.

“Get out.”

Shawn physically recoiled. It wasn’t by much, but he took half a step back. That certainly didn’t sound like the next day response of someone who got lucky with the Heartbreak Kid. He was, of course, drunk at the time so Taker wasn’t getting his absolute best, but even his worst was pretty good. It wasn’t worth a “get out,” at least.

“I was just--”

“I said get out,” Taker’s hands didn’t falter with his tools, eyes didn’t leave the casket. “If you want attention so bad, go get it from Hunter.”

What?

Triple H’s words echoed in his head. _ _He doesn’t want you.__

That couldn’t be true. Hunter was jealous, wasn’t he? Shawn won.

“Hunter?” Shawn repeated, unable to hide the bewilderment in his tone with any charm or snark. “What does he have to do with…?” He took a step forward.

The hammer in the Undertaker’s hand didn’t hit the nail with its next blow, but the table, in a very intentional, very threatening way. He finally looked up, the storm in his green eyes making Shawn retract that step.

“Leave.”

He didn’t shout. He didn’t whisper either. There was no edge to it. Even with that darkness flickering in his expression, he didn’t sound angry. It sounded like he didn’t care. It was that coldness from the first time they spoke.

Setting his jaw, Shawn nodded and turned to leave. He was unwanted.


	7. Busted Flush

The Undertaker hated that his first impulse, upon seeing Shawn, was concern over that nasty bruise on his face. There was no good reason to be troubled over an undoubtedly deserved bruise. Rather than be worried, he should be envious that he wasn’t the one who took the shot, himself. He put the hammer down and sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

__Damn it._ _

Kane strolled in through the side door, a perfectly timed distraction.

“That was loud,” he commented.

“Sorry.”

“Was it Michaels?”

“Yeah. Emphasis on,” Taker made the second sign.

As he tended to around his brother, and only his brother, Kane tugged the bandana off his face, leaving it hanging around his neck. A half smile flickered on his lips at the swipe Taker made at Shawn.

“That bad, huh?” Kane seated himself on one of the coffins as he signed.

“Humans are always bad, little brother.” He caught himself, “Usually bad. __My__ humans are always bad.” He got a tiny, silent laugh out of Kane with that. “Sounds like you’re doin’ pretty well.”

Kane made a so-so gesture.

“You ain’t been back to the house in three nights, boy.”

To the Undertaker’s utter shock, Kane turned red. Then he was shaking his head, making repeated negative gestures.

“It’s not like that.”

“Ain’t trying to pry,” Taker eased himself down next to his brother. “You know I’m,” he looked at his hands, clearing his throat. “Happy. For you.” He just could not get that lump out of his throat as he continued to struggle, “And I, y’know,” he looked sidelong at his brother, “am proud. Of you.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Shut up.”

Kane laughed again, out loud this time. It was hoarse and quiet, a rare and precious sound. A smile flickered on the Undertaker’s face. He affectionately bumped his brother’s arm with his fist, receiving a nudge back from Kane’s shoulder.

They sat together in silence for a spell. They hadn’t seen much of each other since DX came to town. Even if Taker hadn’t been busy trying to figure Shawn out, Kane was so taken with X-Pac.

Regardless of the circumstances, it left the Undertaker in their empty house, alone with the ghosts. He spent so much of their shared childhood soothing his brother’s nightmares from the spirits that he had almost forgotten they were similarly capable of plaguing his nights with their noise and emotion. Kane was always more sensitive, more prone to being targeted. If the spirits wanted to feed off someone’s emotional response, he would always give them more than his big brother would. That was the curse that empathy bore. After being ignored for so long, Taker didn’t have much of a defense from the psychic onslaught. He spent his nights pacing the distance between the house and the funeral parlor, trying to convince himself to work, but too restless to do so, ultimately landing himself in his old bedroom, surrounded by the din of the undead. Sometimes he could keep them at bay with magic. He would close his eyes and focus. Focus on driving the negative spiritual energy out. Focus on scarce, pleasant memories where they couldn’t touch him. His mother’s smile. His brother’s first steps. A white hot aura.

A quiet rap of Kane’s knuckles against the wood brought Taker’s attention back to him.

“I do like Sean,” he admitted, his hands hesitant, shy. “But it’s not working out. Not so long as “Triple H”,” he rolled his eyes as he fingerspelled the name, “is around.” He sighed through his nose, “Sean idolizes him. I can’t stand him. He’s shady. Gives me a bad feeling.”

Taker grimaced. Triple H was racking up reasons for the Undertaker to hate his guts. It was bad enough that he had to compete with the guy, now he was driving a wedge between his little brother and what was shaping up to be his first love, too?

“Ugh…”

For a split second, he thought of Triple H as competition. Horrible. Sickening. Hunter could have Shawn for all Taker cared, but hell if he was going to hurt Kane, too. Could he do something about it without the outlaws mistaking it for retaliation for what Shawn did? He didn’t care about Shawn. Why should he?

“At least they’ll be gone in four days,” he said, almost too quiet for Kane to hear.

It wasn’t just to cheer himself up. He meant it to reassure his brother.

Kane nodded hesitantly, having nothing more to say.

“Watch the shop for a bit. I need air.”

Kane nodded again.


	8. Bets in a Burning House

Genuine kindness was a scarcity in Kane’s life, something he only knew truly from his brother. But even that kindness, sincere as it was, was almost alien. The love the Undertaker had for Kane was fierce and powerful, but never warm or soft. Though Taker was the only bit of family Kane had left, it lacked the gentleness of the love a parent would show for a child, the gentleness Kane had never known from his parents. There was a time he thought he had that love from his birth father, the only real parental figure he had known, but time pulled back the curtain and revealed it to be conditional.

After the passing of their parents, the brothers were taken in by a family friend, their father’s apprentice, a man named Paul Bearer. Kane was too young at the time to remember much of anything that came before Paul’s role as their adoptive father, and so he accepted it as a fact of his life. As far back as he could recall, Paul had always been a kind and fair guardian. The only truly strange things about him were the Undertaker’s resistance to his authority as he grew (surely just a result of growing older, Kane thought), and an urn he had in his possession.

Those two strange things seemed to coincide. As Taker’s unspoken grudge for their guardian grew, so did the vehemence with which he warned Kane not to touch the urn. Don’t ever touch the urn.

Then, when Kane was fifteen years old, his big brother, his champion, his hero, ran away from home. He heard rumors, unkind rumors, unkind to him and unkind to his brother. They said he cracked. The pressure of being burdened with both the care of the family business and of his mute, scarred brother who clung so tightly, too tightly, to him had become too much. He was destined for greater things outside their meager town, greater things that Kane would only hold him back from. He never cared about his weak little brother to begin with, and had fantasized about abandoning him for years, and finally was unable to stop himself.

But it didn’t have to be that way. Kane didn’t have to be weak. Bearer reassured him of that. If only Kane could prove it somehow. If only he had the strength to do it. Kane held the urn in his shaking hands and finally understood his own power, the power his brother tried to hide from him, tried to keep all for himself. That wonderful, destructive magic had slept within Kane his entire life, held down by his brother’s selfishness.

That’s what he thought. That’s what Bearer told him.

His brother saw him as a liability, but Bearer saw his potential. Bearer could teach him to harness it, Kane only had to do one thing for his father, his __real__ father: destroy the Undertaker.

Brainwashed by his father’s poisonous words, drunk off the killing machine capacity he discovered within himself, Kane readily agreed.

There wasn’t much Kane remembered about those twisted, revenge thirsty years, but he knew he came very close to killing his brother. More than once. Whether his inability to do so was testament to the deadman’s resilience or to his own weakness, he wasn’t sure.

In the end, his brother disposed of his biological father, cutting off the head of the snake that infected his family with its hideous venom. He humbled Kane in defeat, reminding him who he really was, and where he belonged. That was the Undertaker’s kindness.

__“Kane.”_ _

He still remembered the feeling of a cold steel barrel to the back of his neck.

__“Come home.”_ _

At the time he thought it was a command. He didn’t think he had a choice, and so with spite in his heart he returned. As time passed he came to understand his brother wasn’t demanding anything of him. He was begging. It was a broken, quiet plea of a man who loved and needed what scarce family he had left. It was a kindness to himself as much as it was to Kane.

Kane readjusted the bandana around his face, leaning on the shop front counter.

__“At least they’ll be gone in four days.”_ _

It was another stilted attempt at consolation. Some days Kane truly marveled at how fundamentally different he was from his brother. Was he that bad at being comforting when they were kids, too? Or was it something that happened in adulthood?

The Undertaker was good at being alone. He was independent, he had to be, with the hand life had dealt him. Though it was clear as day to Kane (and seemingly only Kane) that his brother was thoroughly lovesick over Shawn, it was something he could and would get over. Taker never needed another person to make him feel right or complete.

Kane needed other people, whether it was someone to follow, or someone to be his voice, or, more recently, someone to awkwardly stand up on tip-toes to try and kiss him through his mask. The idea of that someone leaving forever in four days didn’t make him feel any better about anything.

The thought suddenly made him antsy. Only four days left? Taker needed to get back to the shop __immediately__ , Kane was running out of time with X-Pac. Since when did he care about someone watching the shop anyway? He left it unlocked and unattended all the time.

Kane could only assume the scrappy little outlaw was hanging around the inn somewhere. It was the only saloon in town, therefore the only place where anything interesting happened.

X-Pac had picked up on a surprising amount of sign language, so with little difficulty, he and Kane came to be alone in one of DX’s shared rooms.

“Everything okay?”

X-Pac took a seat next to Kane on his bed. It was very close. He even seemed to be leaning in. His hand sort of wandered over on top of Kane’s.

Lifting his other hand, which had begun shaking, Kane put his hand over X-Pac’s eyes. Slipping away from X-Pac’s hand, he pulled his bandana down. As he leaned in close, he realized he wasn’t quite breathing anymore. His heart felt like it was going to erupt in his chest. He couldn’t do it. Could he do it? No. Yes. He had to. He wanted to.

Their lips touched in a chaste, innocent kiss. Soft. X-Pac’s hands tentatively lifted to cup Kane’s cheeks. Warm. Cautious fingertips touched his scars, curious but not prying. Gentle. Kane kissed him again.


	9. The Chips are Down

The next three days were bleak. Shawn quietly bartered a new room from Chyna, who was the only truly sympathetic ear he had left. Hunter barely waited for him to be out the door before ushering X-Pac, who gave Shawn an apologetic shrug, into the room. Shawn couldn’t blame him, really. The kid had been cooped up in a room with two other people for almost two weeks. Why not take up the vacant spot and split the costs of the last few nights?

It may have been a waste of money rooming alone, even for those few days, but Shawn needed sulking space. Besides, he knew he and Hunter would bounce back, as they always did, but not if they stayed in each others faces for so long. He knew that. They were friends. Friends were like that.

Truthfully, Hunter wasn’t a big concern in Shawn’s eyes. Their rough patches were normal, though this fallout has a particular harshness to it. What he was actually brooding over was a certain mortician. He couldn’t get that dark expression out of his head. He couldn’t stop thinking about what on earth he did to earn it, if anything. No one could give him answers but the Undertaker himself. He tried everywhere else--including Kane.

Shawn didn’t expect any help from Kane, he knew the brothers’ loyalty to each other ran deep. It was a desperation move. But Kane surprised him. With no interpreter around at the time, he wrote Shawn a seemingly heartfelt note saying that he didn’t know anything, and that he was sorry he didn’t.

 _ _Wish I could help,__  the end of the page read. _ _I think my brother liked you a lot.__

Staring at the note for what felt like the millionth time, Shawn reclined in his bed, nursing a flask. Liked. Past tense.

Even in the past tense, reading it the first few times made a few tiny butterflies flutter in his stomach. The Undertaker put up with him, sure, but liked him? Shawn hadn’t always gotten that vibe. He knew that when the other man looked at him he liked what he saw, at least. There was a special kind of tension, a spark between them. But that spark would have been there even if the Undertaker hated his guts. Shawn had a lot of experience with belligerent chemistry, and knew how to get what he wanted out of it. He never expected the Undertaker might actually like him. Might have liked him. Past tense. The butterflies in his stomach turned to ash.

He tossed the note on the bed with a growl, draining his flask. A delicate knock on his door interrupted his four day pity party marathon spectacular.

“Mister Michaels?” The little blonde barmaid-- Kitty, was it?-- called through the door. “Miss Chyna wants to talk to you. Says its important.”

Chyna had the whole DX posse clustered in the kitchen, with one surprise new member. Stephanie was tucked under Hunter’s arm, nestled up close to him. Shawn made a point not to look at them, stumbling his way to an open chair. He didn’t like that he was the last one called. He didn’t the way none of the guys made eye contact with him, but he could feel Hunter’s glare.

“So, we have some interesting news from the mayor’s office,” Chyna paced slowly as she spoke. “We’re in the homestretch with the Harts, but we now have a…rattlesnake problem.”

Shawn had been staring at his hands, still the picture of moping. At the word “rattlesnake,” his head snapped right up to look at Chyna.

 _ _“We__  do not have a rattlesnake problem,” Triple H corrected. “Shawn does.”

“Come on, man, don’t be like that,” Road Dogg implored with a knowing look.

“It’s true!” He shrugged with his free arm. “I got no problem with Austin. You three got no problem with Austin.”

Surprising everyone in the room, Stephanie cleared her throat, elbowing Hunter in the ribs, “My __dad__ has a problem with Austin. Which means __I__ have a problem with Austin. Which means __you__ have a problem with Austin.”

Hunter quieted. If the mood of the room hadn’t been so strained, there would’ve been jeers and whipped jokes until they got noise complaints. Instead, X-Pac, Road Dogg, Billy, and Shawn all exchanged glances with their eyebrows up. Chyna covered a smirk with her hand. Shawn felt a fraction of a smidgen better.

“Anyway,” Chyna pointedly continued. “Listen, the Harts are one thing, I can at least reason with them to keep their fights out of here. I can’t help you with Stone Cold.”

“D’we know,” Shawn made a face at the slight slur in his speech. “We know when he’ll be here?”

“He was spotted less than a day’s ride away,” Stephanie spoke up again. “It could be a matter of hours.”

Shawn swore, not quite under his breath, leaning back in his chair to look up at the ceiling. That wasn’t enough of a head start for him to leave. Even with the numbers on their side, making a scene would be more than enough to drew the law’s attention to the town, whether they won or not. Moreover, even with the numbers on their side, they could easily still lose. This was Stone Cold Steve Austin they were talking about, after all.

The party unanimously, begrudgingly agreed that the safest course of action for the time being would be to lay even lower than they already were. Between Chyna and Stephanie, they had enough connections to spread the posse out and keep them covered up.

Knowing Austin was out there should have kept Shawn on the cautious side. Even the gut-wrenching feeling he got when he heard Hunter promise Stephanie from the heart that he would keep her safe shouldn’t have driven him out to the street. It was a dangerous time. He needed to squash down those feelings and stay put. The ghosts of morning alcohol past disagreed, and he stormed out of the inn.

He ignored the pleas of the other DX members, cut off by the doors to the inn swinging shut. Head fuzzy, he wandered around town aimlessly, his mind a constant stream of confused profanity.

He didn’t know how long he was out before he heard a gunshot that snapped him into a lesser state of sobriety. An oh-so familiar growl was spouting out obscenities, and it wasn’t far away. Panicked, Shawn looked to the closest building, and only barely managed to contain an anguished scream. Of course that’s where his drunken feet took him. Of _ _course.__

This time when Shawn burst into Taker’s workshop uninvited, the man looked __very__ angry.

“Listen, I know you don’t owe me anything,” Shawn cut off the demands that he leave, “but, __please__ hide me.”

Another gunshot. The Undertaker strode past Shawn into the shop front, peering out the window.

__“Shit.”_ _

With no more said than that breathed curse, Taker grabbed Shawn’s wrist and shoved him in the nearest coffin.

“Stay there.”

The casket door shut, and the shop door opened.

One set of feet stopped a few steps from the door, the other paced away from the coffin.

“I’m lookin’ for some degenerates.”

“You’re about to be looking for my foot up your ass if you don’t get the hell out of here.”

Shawn covered his mouth with his hand, thankful he was sober enough to muffle the gasp. Was Taker really talking to Stone Cold Steve Austin like that? Did he know who he was talking to? He must have. That kind of venomous tone was reserved for bad, bad blood.

“I told you to stay out of my town, boy.”

“I ain’t here for __you.”__  

“Then get off my property.”

“I ain’t fixin’ to stay. But I got questions for ya.”

The heavier footsteps of the Undertaker were moving again, no doubt getting menacingly close to Stone Cold.

“You better ask ‘em quick before you __really__ start trying my patience.”

“Shawn Michaels, you heard of him?”

“Is he dead?”

“Not yet he ain’t.”

“Then no.”

Silence. Shawn craned his neck, looking for a crack to see out of. There was the tiniest gap between hinges where he could barely make out a slice of scenery. The Undertaker and Stone Cold were staring each other down, standing a lot closer than Shawn would have expected. Suspicious.

“I know that mealy-mouthed son of a bitch came ‘round here,” Austin finally broke the silence. “I aim to find ‘im, and if I find out you’re lyin’ to me--”

“What, Austin? You gonna do something to me?” Whatever threat Austin was making, the Undertaker was making it right back, tenfold.

Austin just smiled.

Thinking the rattlesnake might shoot, Shawn held his breath. A strange part of him, pumping with adrenaline, put his hand on the door of the coffin. The second Austin went for the gun, he could shove the door open and distract him long enough to--

Instead, Stone Cold presented the Undertaker with his two favorite fingers. Taker made a slashing gesture across his throat.

Austin disappeared out the door, but Taker remained in place, watching, waiting. Shawn briefly lost sight of the man from the crack in the wood he was watching him through. Then the coffin door opened.

The usually impassive look on the Undertaker’s face was a touch ruffled. Shawn might have even said the deadman looked rattled by Stone Cold’s sudden appearance. There was a history there and __god__ he wanted to know it, but __knew__ he never would. Asking the Undertaker would probably get him killed faster than going up to Stone Cold himself.

Instead, Shawn weakly croaked, “My hero~”

Taker impatiently gestured for Shawn to get out of the coffin.

“I know, I know,” he reassured him, taking a few shaky steps out. “I’ll leave, I promise.”

The Undertaker grabbed his shoulder.

“Don’t.”

Shawn looked, wide-eyed, at the hand holding him back. Then he looked up at Taker’s face, perplexed. The Undertaker’s expression didn’t give away a single thing, as per usual.

“He’s still out there,” he finally explained. “Unless you wanna get caught, you better stay put.”

“...Why are you helping me?”

“As of now?” Taker took his hand back. “I hate Austin a whole hell of a lot more than I hate you.”

“The enemy of my enemy, eh?”

“I suppose.”

“So, what, do I just,” Shawn shrugged. “Stay here all night until he gets bored and leaves?”

“Doubt he’ll get bored after one night,” Taker disagreed.

Shawn started to feel doomed. He couldn’t imagine Austin cared much for the second half of the “dead or alive” on his wanted poster. He was on borrowed time, and in the establishment of another man whose good graces he was not in, to boot. Getting immediately dumped after one tryst didn’t bode well for Shawn. At the very least, it spoke to the Undertaker’s disinterest in putting up with him for any longer than he already had. He got what he wanted and now he didn’t want it anymore. It was simple. Shawn didn’t want to think about it that way, but that was how things ended up some days. Most days.

The Undertaker’s tone softened, a touch, “But you can stay. You’ll be safe here.”

Those four words immediately revived Shawn’s butterflies. Against his will and rational mind, his face got warm, and he could only hope its coloration didn’t change, too. But he couldn’t help it. It was the second time he heard that heartfelt sentiment that day, and the first time he heard it being directed at him, and he really, really liked hearing it.


	10. Go For Broke

There weren’t any bodies in the morgue, but Shawn couldn’t help feel less than at home in the funeral home basement. Even if he disregarded the fact that it usually housed corpses, it was freezing. He tried to keep his complaints to himself, knowing that his only other option would put him in a morgue in a less lively condition. The Undertaker wasn’t present for him to complain to anyway. The only thing keeping him company was the telltale sounds of tools against wood upstairs.

The day dragged on. A hopeful part of him kept looking to the stairs, waiting for Taker to come down and say the coast was clear. The coast wasn’t going to be clear for a long while, if he knew Austin as well as he thought.

Two bolts of fear struck him.

How long would he go without seeing the sun?

What if DX found an opening and left without him?

He hit the wall with an ineffective thud, gritting his teeth and cursing himself for having lost his cool. The realization of his mistake only grew heavier as he sobered up.

It at least seemed like the rest of DX wouldn’t leave without him, and Chyna probably wouldn’t allow it either. They didn’t have any active grudges, as far as he knew. The mood Hunter was in, though, and his track record of giving __very__ convincing speeches worried Shawn. They only had two days or so left in town, according to their original plan. No one was happy with this change, and that glint of negativity was enough of a weak spot for Triple H to exploit.

Pacing a ditch into the ground, Shawn tried to ease himself off from getting carried away. Stephanie wasn’t going to let Hunter leave yet. Not for Shawn’s sake, but motives didn’t matter as long as the results were what he wanted. Whatever those two had been getting up to, it sounded like she roped him into some family business involving Austin. Until he was taken care of, they weren’t going anywhere. He hoped they weren’t.

Letting out an exasperated yell, he hit the wall again, harder this time. If Austin didn’t get him first, his own tedious thought process would.

The sounds of the workshop above stopped. Shawn swore he heard a sigh. Footsteps, footsteps, more footsteps. A door? Silence.

With that, Shawn was alone for the night, or so he thought. He near jumped out of his skin when maybe an hour or so later the door swung open and there was the Undertaker, a bedroll over his shoulder and a bottle in his other hand.

Not bothering with any pleasantries, he shoved the bedroll at Shawn, then stalked over to sit at the bottom of the stairs, yanking the cork out of the bottle and taking a swig.

“You staying down here, too, deadman?” Shawn toyed with the tie on the bedroll, shifting to a kneeling position.

“Mm.”

“...Why?”

“Kane and that kid,” he stopped the bottle halfway to his lips. “They’re staying at the house. I’m…giving them space.”

“Generous of you,” Shawn replied with a sideways smile. “Rackin’ up a lot of good karma for yourself tonight, eh?”

“Good what?”

“Nothing. I appreciate you doin’ all this for me.”

“It’s not for you.”

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes. “I appreciate you doin’ all this to spite Austin.” Laying down on the unfolded bedroll, he propped himself up on his elbows, quizzical look on his face, “What’d you do to get tangled up with him anyway?”

“None of your business.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that,” Shawn pouted. “I’ll tell you my relationship dirt if you tell me yours.”

“I don’t care about what you do with your sidekick behind closed doors,” Taker scoffed.

That surprised a laugh out of Shawn, “Who, Hunter? Oh, man, he would hate being called that. You should do it to his face,” he suggested, still snickering. “He’s way too scared of you to do anything about it.”

“What part of “I’m not doing these things for you” are you not getting, boy?” Taker fixed him with an exasperated glare.

“You’re no fun,” Shawn plucked an errant piece of straw off the floor, twisting it around between his fingers before blowing it away. “So you were involved with Austin?”

“Never said that.”

“You compared yourselves to me and Hunter,” he countered. “You know, people who used to be involved with each other?”

“I also said it was none of your business.”

Rolling over onto his back, Shawn huffed dramatically, “So, what, we’re just going to sit here in silence until Austin leaves?”

“No. Once the sun’s up, I’m finding your errand boy and we’re smuggling you out of here.” A pause, and a telltale swish of liquid.

Tilting his head back, Shawn stared at the black clad figure upside down, eyes narrowed. The absolute venom in Taker’s tone when he mentioned Triple H was baffling. Shawn couldn’t even recall them meeting. Hearsay from his brother might be enough, but even Kane mainly avoided Hunter.

“Alright, what’s all the animosity about?” __Maybe I should be more specific.__  “For Hunter, at least. I mean, I get that you hate me, and it ain’t the first time I’ve been screwed and dropped but--”

“Screwed and dropped?” Taker interrupted, tone dripping with bitterness. “What the hell are you even--” He sighed, realization striking, “You really don’t remember anything.”

Anger flaring, Shawn snapped, “Sure as hell would help if everyone stopped dodging me when I ask.” He sat up, shaking his head, trying to calm down.

The Undertaker was silent. Shawn kept his back to him, spirits dashed.

“You wanna know?”

Perking right up, Shawn whipped his head around, _ _“Yes.”__

Putting the bottle down, Taker beckoned him closer with one finger. His face was unreadable, intentions unclear. Scrambling to his feet, Shawn ignored the apprehensive feeling in his stomach. It was so easy, letting himself be lured in by that magnetic aura.

“You showed up at my shop, drunk,” Taker’s rough voice turned soft and sultry. “And we ended up like _ _this.”__

Seizing Shawn’s hips, the Undertaker pulled him down onto his lap. Shawn reacted immediately, jaw dropped, face hot, and his heart about to burst out of his chest. His breathing turned shallow and scarce as Taker leaned in. A cold hand covered his own, softly stroking, then pulling it to rest on Taker’s thigh. He bit his lip as his hand was dragged higher and higher up those perfect svelte legs. When he looked up, Taker was a hair’s breadth away from kissing him.

Before their lips could touch, the deadman veered to the side to speak into Shawn’s ear, voice returning to its normal growl, “And then you called me Hunter.”

That huge, strong hand covered Shawn’s chest and shoved him back. As Shawn’s backside hit the floor, he couldn’t help but be impressed by how much power Taker managed to put behind one quick shove that was more in his wrist than in his arm. That feeling faded as the truth of the situation sunk in, and he laid his head on the ground, mortified.

Pulling himself upright, rubbing his lower back, he whined, “Was the physical altercation completely necessary?”

“Made me feel better,” Taker lifted the bottle again, trying to hide his smirk.

“...I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care.”

Shoulders slumped, Shawn almost gave up when a spark lit up his brain. _ _Yes you do.__  “You’re jealous.”

Coughing, Taker tried to respond with a cracked, “What?”

“You’re jealous,” Shawn repeated, rising to his knees and shuffling closer. “That’s why you’re so mad--hell that’s why you’re taking all these digs at Hunter.” Pushing his luck, he propped himself up on Taker’s knee, preparing to dodge if the man swung at him, “Come on. Admit it.”

“No.”

For all that Taker wasn’t emotive, he was really obvious. He was lying and Shawn could see it written all across his face. He could admit that maybe Kane gave him the first hint to open the floodgates of “maybe he actually does like me,” but the rest was Shawn’s genius deductive skills, of course.

Teasing and nagging wasn’t going to get him where he wanted. He knew that. He just couldn’t help doing it a little before turning serious.

“Listen,” his voice softened with seriousness and a bit of affection. “Hunter’s in the past. Hell, I can even admit, we’re two egos that can’t get over ourselves. Didn’t work out, and it ain’t gonna work out.”

No response from Taker. That was fine. Shawn was still building up. He had to go honest and vulnerable, and it wasn’t a switch he could turn on that easily. The Undertaker, very unintentionally, was giving him enough time to make that transition.

“I __am__ sorry. Really.” Now that Taker was finally looking at him again, Shawn gave him a sincere, imploring look, “Me and you, it was just supposed to be, I dunno, simple. Fast. No strings attached. But,” it took everything in him not to break eye contact, “I ended up kind of liking you.” __And royally screwing it up, I guess.__

The Undertaker didn’t flinch. He didn’t respond. He kept staring at Shawn in uncomfortable silence.

“That really is too bad, pretty boy,” he broke the silence coldly. “I don’t like you.”


	11. Call a Spade a Spade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole next concept was inspired by a wild mass guess on TV tropes that had some theory about how texas red died and became the undertaker. which does finally answer the question "why the FUCK is the undertaker a wrestler." what's he supposed to do, switch careers? who's hiring 7 foot tall undead wizards anyway?

“Damn it,” the Undertaker grumbled, head falling against Shawn’s shoulder. “I really, really liked you, pretty boy.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Time and an empty bottle of whiskey brought the two onto the floor of the morgue, with Shawn leaning up against the wall and the Undertaker leaning onto Shawn. It was bizarre, Shawn being the (mostly) sober party. While Taker remained somewhat of a closed book, even when drunk, he was gradually slipping with his words, more and more. His body language had slipped completely.

Though he was thoroughly enjoying learning all sorts of new things about the deadman, Shawn was feeling more wistful than anything. First, Taker was __cute__ when he was tipsy. He was oddly clingy, a major departure from his usual frigid stoicism. It was hard to resist. More importantly, the entire night was driving home the fact that if Shawn hadn’t spent so much time playing around with him, he and Taker probably could have had something. Now it was too late.

As if wanting to rub his face in it, Taker muttered against Shawn’s neck, “I would’ve let you do whatever you wanted.”

“What, when I was stumbling drunk?” Shawn snorted. “Not a good time to do that. Not if you want me at 100% top Heartbreak Kid quality.”

The Undertaker made a noise that could maybe have passed for a laugh.

It was taking all the restraint in Shawn’s body not to reciprocate the physical affection. It didn’t feel right, and just as important, there was no way sampling the forbidden fruit was going to sate him. Forbidden in that Shawn already burned that bridge and there was likely no going back.

Taker pulled himself upright and spoke, “You and Austin. What’s the story there?”

“Not much of one,” he admitted. “He’s a bounty hunter and I’m a bit of a catch, if I do say so myself. Guess I’ve been ducking him so long that he’s, ah, built up a bit of a grudge towards me.”

Taker made that almost-a-laugh noise again, “So he ain’t changed much since I last seen ‘im. Vindictive son of a…”

Unable to keep his curiosity in check, Shawn prodded, “How long have you known him?”

“He had a lot more hair when we were runnin’ together.”

Running together?

__Hair?_ _

The Undertaker’s answer stirred up far more questions from Shawn than it answered.

“Go on,” Shawn practically pleaded, eyes wide.

Taker sighed and leaned against the wall again. His jaw tensed as he stared off into the dimly lit morgue. Shawn wilted, figuring his luck with dirty secrets had run out, when Taker surprised him.

“You know he ain’t always been a hotshot bounty hunter,” Taker tilted his head to look sidelong at Shawn. “He wasn’t anything more than a common-or-garden bandit piece of trash like you or me.”

“You or me?” Shawn repeated, unable to hide the glee in his voice, far too giddy to even care that the Undertaker implied he was trash. “Oh-ho-ho, please tell me that means you, Mr. Straight Laced Respectable Funeral Director, law-abiding citizen looking his nose down on us common criminals, were involved in some less than lawful activities?”

“There ain’t a lace on me that’s straight,” Taker scoffed. “And I’ve never, I don’t look down on you.”

“Yeah? What happened to me being nothing but trouble and you “knowing my game,” hm?”

“You’re trouble because you’re a flirt, not a thief.”

“And yet you don’t want your precious little brother to be involved with one of us scumbags?” Shawn gasped, “Was Kane in on it too? Are you __both__ secret criminals?”

“Only thing Kane’s guilty of is trusting people.” Taker made a face, clearing his throat and lifting the empty bottle, “This is, uh, strong.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“...You ain’t half bad, Michaels.”

“Oh, stop, you’ll make me blush.” Shawn waved the slip up away, “No, no, I wanna hear about __crimes__ , deadman. Joint crimes between Austin and the Undertaker.”

“They didn’t call me that back then.”

With an inquisitive hum, Shawn nudged Taker in the side. He was slowly catching onto the fact that if he pestered him enough he eventually got results. This time he drew a low groan from the back of Taker’s throat. Those sharp eyes (somewhat dulled from the alcohol) were narrowed to suspicious slits, cast dubiously at Shawn. Shawn smiled back sweetly.

“You take this to your _ _grave,__  Michaels,” Taker jabbed an accusatory finger at Shawn’s chest.

Shawn leaned in, putting a hand behind his ear.

“...Texas Red.”

The air left Shawn’s lungs like Taker had punched him in the stomach.

“No, no no,” Shawn grinned so wide his face started to hurt. “That ain’t possible. You can’t be.”

Then he stopped and thought about it. A silent outlaw, near seven feet tall, more like a shadow than a man, so elusive that most considered him a folktale… The shoe certainly fit. There was just one detail that Shawn found himself stuck on.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he blurted out.

While eyewitnesses were few and far between, it was confirmed beyond the shadow of a doubt that Texas Red had been shot through the heart in a duel with his ex-partner, the Rattlesnake. That’s how Shawn understood it. As he tried to piece things together, he had to admit it wasn’t completely impossible. It was rumored that Austin left the body in the desert to rot under the sun, no funeral, no burial. If it had been anyone but Stone Cold who shot the man dead, Shawn would’ve admitted, yes, there was a faint possibility that the killer could have overlooked the faintest breath left in their victim’s body. But this __was__ Stone Cold. He was too meticulous, too suspicious to trust only a single bullet. He wouldn’t walk away unless he knew the job was done.

And yet, Austin didn’t sound too surprised that the Undertaker was up and walking around when he confronted him at the storefront.

“Well.” Taker chuckled softly, as if recalling something funny.

A cold hand covered Shawn’s, bringing it up to Taker’s neck, where his pulse was. Where his pulse should have been. The frigid skin was still. Taker unbuttoned his shirt, showing off a cluster of six bullet scars over his heart. The wounds that should have killed him were fully healed. Though deeply disturbed looking at them, Shawn couldn’t pull his eyes away.

“...Huh.” He barely managed to utter that single syllable.

“Being cursed runs in my family,” he explained cryptically.

Shawn swallowed hard, “Maybe…it isn’t any of my business.”

The most __bitter__ laugh burst out of Taker, making Shawn jump.

“Of course. When it stops being fun, it ain’t your business anymore,” he jeered, tightening his grip on Shawn’s hand before dropping it.

“No, no!” Shawn grabbed at Taker’s withdrawing hand. “That’s not it, I swear.” He laughed nervously, trying to talk until he figured out how to salvage the situation, “I mean, I’ve had my share of guys like that, so I ain’t about to turn into one, uh,” he cleared his throat. “What I meant was, I didn’t think this was going to be some deep, dark secret.” He paused, stroking his thumb over Taker’s palm, “You’ve…had a lot to drink. You might tell me somethin’ you’ll regret tomorrow.”

Finally, Shawn’s conscience was getting the best of him.

The Undertaker made a short humming noise. He pulled Shawn’s hand away from his throat, tilting it to kiss his wrist.

Lips not moving from Shawn’s skin, Taker’s eyes flickered up to meet his. “You’ll be gone tomorrow, won’t you?”

Unsure what he was getting at, Shawn shrugged. A breath of a laugh ghosted over his skin.  

“Get some sleep, Michaels,” Taker let go of him with a slight delay, rising to his feet.

Shawn opened his mouth to protest. It was a troubling, inconclusive note to end the night on. He didn’t want the Undertaker to leave yet. __He__ didn’t want to leave yet. Try as he might, he couldn’t get a single word, a single feeling, out. As he watched the man disappear up the stairs, Shawn began to feel like he was going to be the one with regrets the next morning.

 


	12. Wild Card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im cranking the whole "men dont understand their own emotions" thing up to 11. also this is a REALLY weird relationship to entertain, i understand, but consider: their first blood feud in 99 was horny as fuck. i have nothing else to say for myself.

The crisp night air was sobering. The Undertaker stared up into the starry sky, arms folded, still as a statue. More emotions than he thought he was capable of having in a year were swirling around in his chest. A part of him was looking forward to Shawn potentially leaving the next day, wanting nothing more than to escape the hurricane the man dragged him into. That was the part of himself that knew what was best for him. That was the rational, calculating side of himself that knew he had to “play” dead as Austin unloaded five extra bullets into his chest for good measure.

Though he smothered it away as best as he could, there was another part of him, a part that disagreed. There were glowing embers deep down, far beneath the exterior of his icy soul. It was rare, but those embers had the potential to be stoked into a raging inferno. There were times when something inside him woke up, an uninhibited burst of emotion.

That unrestrained fire cost him his parents, once, and almost cost him his brother, twice.

When he was twenty-five, that sleeping, heated desire persuaded him to leave, to run away with the man he loved. It convinced him that he was in love at all. If he had more practice in understanding his own damn emotions, maybe he could have figured out that the reality was he didn’t love Austin, not even a little. He was jealous of him, jealous of how he lived without abandon. He behaved however he wanted, living under his own rules. No person or thing could tie him down.

The Undertaker tentatively touched the scars on his chest.

“Fool,” he muttered under his breath.

It took him years to realize what the fire that he felt when he saw Austin meant. It took mere minutes within knowing Shawn for Taker to recognize that similar heat. He thought that was enough, knowing the problem. Where he struggled was in execution. He knew Shawn was trouble, but he let the man charm him anyway.

A dull ache in the back of his head brought his attention to a clouded aura he knew too well approaching him.

“Told you not to try my patience, Austin,” he snarled, eyes still fixed on the sky.

Completely ignoring his comment, the rattlesnake snapped, “I know you got that squirrelly son of a bitch hidden in your damn shop, deadman.”

“You want him, you go through me first,” Taker declared, before fixing him with a knowing look, “And you and me both know that’s something you can’t do.”

The Undertaker fully expected Austin to start throwing hands at the opposition. Instead, he laughed and shook his head. That smidgen of sentiment Taker was feeling seemed to be contagious.

“The hell are you protecting him for?”

Looking away, Taker took in a deep breath. “Been asking myself the same thing.”

“You know how much that jackass is worth?”

“Not interested.”

“You’re sweet on him, ain’tcha?”

“Yeah.”

Austin smirked, but Taker didn’t sense any unkindness from his old one-time partner. “You’re gettin’ soft. First your brother, now Michaels?”

“I wonder, would you be saying that if I chose you over them?”

“Damn right I would,” Austin spat. “Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t bitter about you choosing your family then or Michaels now. I’m just saying. You changed.”

Taker chuckled in spite of himself, “And you haven’t changed a bit. You think you can survive on that lone wolf act forever?”

“Hasn’t failed me yet.”

“Yet,” Taker echoed softly.

Silence fell between them. Austin’s hardheaded answers spoke to the fire inside the Undertaker. It was troublesome that the rattlesnake could effect him like that, but it wasn’t the same way he used to. He was learning from his mistakes, to an extent.

“You keep that guard up, deadman,” Austin advised threateningly. “Second you let it down, that little yellow bastard’s neck is mine.” He began pacing away, then stopped, and added, “And don’t be thinking I’m the one going soft. I ain’t showing no damn mercy--wipe that stupid look off your face before I knock it off. I got other business to take care of in this town, but I’m coming back for you and Michaels, and that’s all I got to say to you.”

“Goodnight, Austin.”

“Shut up.”

The Undertaker watched him storm away into the break of dawn with a touch of nostalgic fondness. Terrible. It seemed he was going a __little__ soft after all.

Down in the morgue, Shawn was in a restless sleep. Taker silently lowered himself to the ground, watching him toss and turn for a spell. Unable to stop himself, he tenderly stroked Shawn’s cheek, tucking back stray strands of his golden hair. The man stirred, brow knitting together as Taker’s thumb brushed over the bruise. Then he sighed and settled, rolling over to turn away from the deadman’s chilled touch.

The feeling of warm skin faded from Taker’s fingers. While the cold night air had mostly done the trick of sobering him up, lingering effects of the alcohol in his veins were sinking back in. His entire body felt heavy, his eyelids especially. One second he was sitting upright, the next he was on the floor, staring at the back of Shawn’s neck. It would only be for a minute or two, he told himself as his eyes closed for the night.


	13. Cards on the Table

A deathly chill hand on Shawn’s shoulder rocked him awake. His eyes fluttered open, but not for long. It was too cold, and way too early--or at least it felt early. The hand shook him with more urgency.

“Wake up, Michaels,” the Undertaker spoke quietly, pulling Shawn out of his half-asleep state.

Shawn made a grumbling noise and shifted, but kept his eyes closed. “Maybe I need a prince to kiss me awake.”

That slight breathy noise that Shawn could finally identify as Taker’s laugh ghosted over him.

“I ain’t no prince, pretty boy.”

Still, the Undertaker’s fingers brushed Shawn’s cheek before taking a gentle hold of his chin. Shawn’s breath stilled and he could feel his face getting warm.

Nothing.

Cracking open an eye, he saw the Undertaker moving away.

“You better go while you got the chance.” The Undertaker’s gruff voice was surprisingly gentle. “Austin’s got his eyes off you, for now.” His fingertips skirted over Shawn’s temple before he pulled his hand fully away, and was that a look of reluctance on his face? “Your boys will be here any minute.”

Rubbing at his face, Shawn sat up. “…You sure?”

“I pulled some strings. You’ve got a window.”

Taker didn’t seem to want to say anymore, rising to his feet. That was fine. Knowing he cared enough to get him out safely was all Shawn needed to know.

Following the Undertaker up to the shop front, Shawn cleared his throat, “Thanks. I mean, I know you didn’t do it for me but.” He shrugged, “Just don’t seem right not to say it.”

Taker looked at him sidelong, and Shawn could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes. There was the slightest hint of a smile as Taker turned away.

“Yeah. That wasn’t for you. This is.”

Taker seized Shawn’s wrist and pulled him close, cutting off his response. Before Shawn’s brain could register what was going on, he was dipped down low in the showiest display of a kiss he had ever received. Almost knocked off his feet, he grabbed helplessly at Taker’s shoulders and neck. Unbothered by Shawn’s flailing, the Undertaker stroked one cool hand over his cheek, holding his face firmly in place as he kissed him a second time. It could have been the third. Maybe the fourth. Shawn wasn’t keeping track. A gasp for air was cut off by a moan at the unexpected press of the Undertaker’s tongue against his own. Sure, he had thought about kissing the other man before, but he wasn’t prepared for quite so…much from him.

After one last, long, steamy kiss, Taker stopped and leaned in to whisper into Shawn’s ear, “You owe me.” Nipping at Shawn’s earlobe, he pulled him upright, speaking in a slightly louder tone, with a sort of dreamy, longing smile on his face, “Goodbye, Shawn.”

Tilting Shawn’s chin up, Taker kissed him for the final time, so sweetly this time that Shawn felt everything inside of him melt. Still holding his face, Taker lingered close, eyes locked onto Shawn’s. It looked like he wanted to say something. Something difficult and passionate. There was a different kind of yearning in his eyes.

Instead, he simply added in somewhat of a stage whisper, “For now.” His eyes moved to look past Shawn’s shoulder. “Helmsley. Took you long enough.”

 _ _Helmsley--?__  Shawn whipped his head around and, sure enough, there was DX, with Hunter in the lead. He looked annoyed. The mayor’s daughter was on his arm, though, so he could die mad about it for all Shawn cared.

“Yeah, sorry to interrupt,” Hunter jerked his thumb in the direction of the side door they must have come in through. “We got a belligerent rattlesnake who’s only gonna be distracted for so long, so,” he made a sort of “hurry up” gesture.

“Right, I,” Shawn faced forward to find the Undertaker was gone. __Huh.__  “Uh,” he turned around to face his posse, namely his increasingly impatient best friend, “Let’s ride, partner.”


	14. Winning Hand

Feeling at peace wasn’t something the Undertaker was very used to, especially not since Michaels and his gang showed up in town. Even looking past them, he was hard pressed to find a time where his soul felt properly satisfied. Amicably parting with Shawn, he was able to put the very strange few weeks behind him. He could get back to his normal life with no regrets or lingering feelings.

Beyond the outlaw, there were those tumultuous feelings, those searing memories that he had to deal with, seeing Austin again. Even all that trouble in his heart seemed to have settled itself. It helped that Austin was carrying on with the mayor in the dead center of town, and avoiding that was as easy as putting up a “closed” sign and heading home to the outskirts. Maybe the shop would stay closed for a while longer. The old house had been largely ignored by him lately, it could use a good tidying. Some sweeping here, some exorcising there.

Kane was staying at the inn for a little overtime in all the violence and excitement. It would keep his mind busy while he dealt with his own loss, and if he needed his family he knew where to find him. For the time being, though, the Undertaker would be alone. At least, that’s what he thought.

A single step into the house and he knew there was a trespasser. So sure he was never going to experience it again, the white heat of __that__ aura nearly bowled him over.

“Why the hell…?” He muttered under his breath, striding up the stairs.

He yanked the door open, flourishing his free hand to light the lantern sitting at his bedside. Seeing surprise flash on the face of the intruder laying in his bed was far too gratifying. Regardless of how shocked he may have been from the sudden light, Shawn quickly regained his composure. With one fluid movement, he pulled himself into an upright seated position. Twirling his hair around one finger, he grinned lopsidedly.

“’Bout time you showed up,” he sang out.

Trying to ignore the fact that Shawn looked as beautiful in his bed as he had imagined, the Undertaker demanded to know, “What are you __doing__ here?”

He wanted to be angry. After all the work networking he put in to separate the outlaw from Austin, Shawn was really going to throw it away? What, if anything, was the man thinking?

“Don’t worry about me so much,” Shawn cooed. “I, too, have strings I can pull, and I’ve got eyes on Austin. We’ve got time.” Then he made a come hither gesture with his fingers, “C’mere.”

Giving up, Taker sighed and followed the instructions, taking a seat on the bed. He swallowed hard, giving Shawn a good looking up and down. As far as Taker knew, the he was wearing a shirt, and that was it. The bedroom eyes he was being given had to be near illegal with how severely they affected him. What the hell was it about that cocky boldness that was so damn attractive anyway?

All things considered, the two men had kissed a number of times before. This was the first time for Shawn to both initiate and be in complete control of himself, and Taker had no qualms admitting that he was a damn good kisser.

He started by gently running his fingers up the line of Taker’s jaw, holding him still for a moment, getting close enough to let their foreheads and noses barely brush each other. Their lips touched in a gentle caress, tender and chaste. As they fell into a gradual rhythm, Shawn inched himself onto the other man’s lap, drawing the Undertaker’s hands to rest at his hips. One of Shawn’s hands wandered to the nape of Taker’s neck, slowly stroking up and down with his middle and ring finger, sending goosebumps all over the deadman’s body. He grazed Taker’s bottom lip with his teeth, pulling and sucking on it lightly. Then his tongue flickered out, flirting briefly, teasingly withholding.

The Undertaker’s hands tensed on Shawn’s waist. His body was hot, way too hot. If he had a working heart he knew it would be racing as Shawn completely overtook him. What had been burning slowly and quietly in the deadman’s veins had been stoked into an uncontrollable blaze, and the only thing that mattered were Shawn’s hands in his hair, his tongue in his mouth, and his legs wrapped around his waist. Slow and smooth, Shawn completely picked him apart, turning him into a breathless, trembling mess. The siren song of Shawn’s lips pulled him in and left him helpless and wanting more.

With one decisive move, the Undertaker shoved Shawn off of him, planting him on his back, pinning him to the mattress.

Shawn looked up at him, wide-eyed, but not afraid. The way he licked his lips, the Undertaker knew it was a look of eager anticipation.

Breathing finally leveled enough to talk, Taker shook his head, flipping his hair back, and repeated lowly, “What are you doing here?”

The surprised look on Shawn’s face was replaced with an affectionate grin. He laughed a blithe laugh, and the Undertaker felt his chest get tight. The man seemed content to not answer him immediately, shifting his shoulders and settling his head on the pillow in an exaggerated show of getting comfortable.

“Life’s a gamble,” he finally responded. Then he sensuously undid a few of his buttons, his warm smile turning cocky, “Besides, you did say I owe you. I’d hate to leave town with a debt like that on my shoulders.”

A smile curved his lips, and Taker stroked underneath Shawn’s chin, crooning, “Careful, Michaels, anyone hears you talking like that, they’ll think you’re desperate.” He chuckled softly, adding, “Or worse, a man of your word.”

“Oh no,” Shawn feigned a gasp. “You’ll have to keep this our little secret, then, won’t you, darlin’?”

“Make it worth my while. I’ll consider it.”

“You’re on, deadman.”


End file.
